


Ave Maria

by Ellie5192



Series: A Little Light Music [12]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, RST, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They make a meal together as though they've done it every night for years, and though the tension is palpable, she’s starting to wear it like a second skin, allowing the feeling of being so desired to settle over her and comfort her the way Andy can’t."</p><p>Just as Sharon and Andy's relationship comes to a decisive crossroad, a new case could bring it all crashing down around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ave Maria

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. No, you’re right, you’ve all been amazingly patient and kind. I’ll knock it off now.  
> This is the first chapter in a series of 3, following after Coda in the Little Light Music series.   
> Based on a prompt from the RaydorFlynn lj community ‘Late Night Phone Call’, and includes a prompt from skillwithaquill who asked for: ‘Sharon/Andy - Broken promise.’ I was also inspired by (and borrowed partially from) Something’s Gotta Give, which I rewatched the other day and still love so much.

**Ave Maria**

 

“Hear ye, hear ye” shouts Provenza, waltzing into the murder room with a flier in his hand. Tao and Sanchez just grin from their desks, with Sykes moving closer to see what all the fuss is about. Andy already knows what’s going on, and so grins to himself, trying to ignore Sharon as she steps out of her office with an amused smile and her arms crossed, playing along to Provenza’s town crier act. The whole atmosphere feels pleasant and familiar, and they finally look like a team, banded together as colleagues, held together by friendship.

“I have important news” he continues.

“What news, Sir?” asks Sykes with a grin. He eyeballs her, but it’s playful enough, and everyone can see that he’s starting to warm up to her despite her rough beginning.

“We have a ball coming up”

“A ball?” asks Sharon, stepping in a little closer. Nobody mentioned a ball to her.

“Yes, my lady, a ball. ‘Dancing With The Kids’, a police charity ball to raise funds for the children’s ward at the hospital. And look here who’s invited”

He points to the flier, though only Sykes is close enough to read it. “Major Crimes Division. As well as Robbery and Traffic”

“Oh joy” says Andy with an eye roll. They all know he has an ex in Traffic; a real bunny boiler type who still holds a grudge, and Sanchez grins at him.

“Your favourite”

“Shut up Julio”

“So, Captain, shall I assume we’re all going to this ball? For the children?”

“What ball?” asks Buzz, making his way into the room from down the hallway.

“Police charity ball coming up” says Tao.

“Oh”

“Well don’t sound so excited, Buzz. It’s a chance to put on your dancing shoes and show us what you’re made of” says Provenza with a smirk.

“I don’t dance” he replies.

“It’ll be fun” says Sykes, bouncing a little in her seat. “I love to dance”

“Well that’s at least one going. Anyone else?”

Everyone eventually raises their hands, though Andy rolls his eyes as he’s the last to put his hand up, and he really doesn’t want to run into his ex. Sharon has her hand up with a grin, watching everyone eventually cave to the guilt of Provenza’s ‘think of the children’ comment.

“And will Rusty be coming?” asks Buzz, turning to face their Captain, his concern over being a babysitter very apparent.

“No” says Sharon with a grin. “I’ll make arrangements for him to stay with a friend”

Buzz sags with relief and she shakes her head in amusement and leaves Provenza to tally the RSVP’s and send word to the organisers. The day is thankfully an easy one, full of banter and playful ribbing, and they don’t get a new case until the afternoon. The leads are slow, and so she sends them all home at five that night, promising them they can return to it in the morning.

She’s just packing up her office and collecting her things when Andy knocks on her door, and it has been a good enough day that, thankfully, the mood between them is bearable. He smiles gently at her, his eyes crinkled in the corners, and it makes her belly flutter, so she just smiles back and gives him an expectant look.

“I, ahh… just wanted to wish you a good night” he says, fumbling. She thinks it’s a bit cute.

He hesitates on the spot before glancing back and nodding at her, turning to leave.

“Andy” she calls suddenly. He whips around so fast. “Did you want to come over for dinner? Rusty’s out at chess club this evening and won’t be dropped home until later. I wouldn’t mind the company” she finishes with a little shrug and a sheepish smile.

She ignores the voice in her head (that sounds entirely too much like her mother) which tells her she’s just asking for trouble and allowing herself to be put in a compromising position, but he was right the other day. They can’t go on pretending nothing exists, and they also can’t continue trying to ignore each other completely. If a few awkward dinners are what it’s going to take to restore the equilibrium, she can deal with that.

“Sure” he replies, smiling. “I’d love that”

“Great” she smiles.

She closes up her office, and they walk side by side to the elevators, waving at Tao who lingers at his desk finishing a computer analysis from their latest murder. He waves back, but doesn’t really pay them an attention.

It’s starting to feel easy again, as they stand side by side, and when they part to go in their separate cars it’s friendly and familiar. The arrival at her house is comfortable, and when she makes her way into the kitchen, he follows, throwing his jacket over the back of one of the dining chairs and rolling up his sleeves.

They make a meal together as though they’ve done it every night for years, and though the tension is palpable, she’s starting to wear it like a second skin, allowing the feeling of being so desired to settle over her and comfort her the way Andy can’t. She may not be allowed to be with him in a relationship, but there is no rule that prevents her from smiling at him over a bowl of linguini, a shy look in her eye. And if he returns it, well all the better.

They wash and dry the dishes side by side, and he’s making them both coffees while she leans back against her bench, when she jokingly brings up the charity ball.

“So, this ball. I heard from a friend over at Traffic that a special someone is going to be there” she says to his back with a grin, enjoying the ability to make fun of him again; liking that she can share that she has a few meagre friends in the force.

“Please, please don’t remind me. I went on two dates with the woman- _two_ \- and she’s practically planning our wedding. I had to alter my lunch plans for a week just to avoid running in to her”  

“Well, on the bright side, you don’t know if she’ll actually be there- you could always get lucky”

He puts his hands together in prayer and looks heavenward for a moment, his lips pretending to mumble to himself. She giggles at his antics and shakes her head.

“Don’t be horrible” she chides half-heartedly.

“You’ve got no idea” he says adamantly.

“So find yourself a nice date to take” she says with a shrug. “Or would that just make it worse?” she adds, grinning stupidly at the thought of Andy getting embroiled in a scene between a jealous ex and a quick set-up. He shoots her a glare over his shoulder, secretly glad that she’s mocking him, and turns back to his coffee preparations. He’s using the super fancy barista machine that she’s barely ever touched, and she’s impressed enough to accept a coffee rather than a tea, just to try it out. The moment is light and fun, and she continues to smile at his back. He goes quiet, and seems strangely tense, and she should see it coming, but she’s too caught up this moment to prepare herself.

He walks over to her with the coffee, and as he’s handing her the mug he quickly says, “Go with me”

“What?” she asks, her brow furrowing with confusion as she takes a sip, licking the froth off her lip in the most adorable way.

“To the ball- be my plus one” he says, taking a step back and putting his coffee on the bench near the sink, afraid that he’ll spill it with the way his hands are suddenly unsteady.

“You forget that I’m invited too?” she asks with a smirk, putting her coffee on the bench behind her, shifting her lower back against it where she’s leaning and crossing her arms.

“No, I mean… go with me” he says again, his eyes lowing to the floor. “As my date”

Her face turns from playful to serious, to almost mournful. "Don't. You promised you wouldn't"

"I didn't promise anything-" he starts, looking up.

"You said you’d try- that you wouldn't let your feelings cloud your judgement again" she points out, giving him a look with a tilt of her head.

"My judgement’s just fine thanks"

"Obviously not” she snaps. “You're standing in my kitchen telling me you'd like to take me on a date to a work function, where _everyone_ who is supposed to have _no_ idea about _this-_ " She gestures jerkily between them. “… is going to be there”

Whatever playfulness they had is lost as he looks at her long and hard, taking a step closer to where she's leaning against the bench. His eyes swim with a million emotions, but she identifies possession, and affection, and perhaps some anger. She thinks she understand what all that equates to. It’s enough to have her trembling.

"I don't want to go another day pretending like there's nothing here" he says lowly, gesturing between them. "I'm sick of acting like this isn't going anywhere"

"What do you-"

"Don't you dare play dumb" he sneers, shaking his head, his brow twitching and betraying the need that runs through him.

"I wasn't going to _play dumb_ , I was going to ask you what you think is going to happen" she says, defensive and reassuring all in one.

He looks confused for a moment and she plants her palms on the edge of the bench behind her, sighing and shaking her head to collect her thoughts before looking at him again.

"Say we jump into this head first, where does that leave us, Andy? Transfer? Retirement? Charges against us for misconduct?" 

"God, can't you leave the rules alone for one goddamn minute?"

"I'm not talking about the rules, I'm talking about _us_ ” she replies, her voice choking just slightly, giving away that underneath the calm and rational exterior she’s just as passionate as he is, and perhaps angry that he’s dismissing it. “I'm talking about what happens when we're called into question. Are you prepared for that? Are you going to stick by it? Because I refuse to compromise my career for an infamous Andy Flynn relationship"

His head snaps up so fast she thinks he might have broken something, and his lips quirk just-so in genuine anger. "You think I'm after a _fling_?" he rasps, his eyes turning dark, stepping towards her, their noses pointed at each other in challenge. "You think I'm here for a two-night-screw, wham bam thank you ma'am I'm done?"

Before she can comprehend what he's saying, his hand is on the back of her neck as he pulls her forward and crashes his lips to hers. It's a single, hard, unmoving kiss, full of all the desperation he can't articulate. 

He pulls back just as suddenly, and his hand moves from her neck to her cheek when he realises she's not going to slap him after all, though her hand does come up to hold his wrist. There's still a space between them, a gap that feels a lot wider than it actually is. Her eyes are open and wide, her mouth in a little circle of surprise. 

She is shaken out of her reverie by the pad of his thumb running across her cheek, and she blinks long and hard, maybe truly seeing him for the first time.

“Andy-" she whispers, barely at all, just loud enough. His features soften at the sound of her voice, and before she can question what the hell she’s doing her hand sneaks behind his neck and she closes the gap and kisses him right back. His lips are softer than she expects them to be. Their free hands go around each other's backs as they part just slightly, clutching, and their bodies rest flush against each other, their lips coming together again in a long, slow embrace. It's sweeter than the frantic desperation of before- gentle and unhurried, like they've got all the time in the world.

They stand like that for a long time, one hand each on neck and back, lips barely moving, breathing through their noses, their eyes closed, just feeling. She feels the desperate hold of his fingers against her spine, and the way his other hand flicks into her hair and out again as though he’s wanted to do that for ages. Maybe he has. His breath is raspy and over-emotional, and she knows she is not much better, because all she can really focus on is the feeling of his heartbeat that she can taste on his lips. She thinks he's as loath to move away as she is, as though moving out of this moment will somehow bring reality crashing back around their ears. 

She pulls back, breathing deeply, resting her forehead against his chin as she finally finds the courage to open her eyes. 

He waits a beat. 

She listens to him draw in a breath.

She breaths out.

Nothing happens. 

Nobody runs in screaming bloody murder, the sky stays where it is, and when he dares to lower his cheek next to rest against hers, Sharon is smiling. A soft, wide smile. He can feel it.

He can't help but smile too, moving his arms to encircle her back, holding her tight to him.   
She does the same, and turns her head to rest her cheek against his chest. 

"Just so you know, I don’t know how to do this” she says quietly.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated” he replies with a shrug and a soft smile, his grip twitching just a little bit tighter around her.

“My life, just before this moment, before all this; it was good. I knew what I was doing, and I was good at it. I could have lived it forever”

“And now?” he whispers. He doesn’t sound worried, because she’s still wrapped in his arms, her tone light, and he thinks that she really doesn’t have any intention of going anywhere. He thinks she’s just too keyed up to keep it all inside any longer, and he’s getting a front row seat to her every thought for the first time. That there might be more times like this after tonight sends a warmth running through him.

"This is going to turn into one big mess, isn't it?" she asks, low in her throat.

"Probably" he replies, without regret.

"Well okay then. Just so we're clear"

"And the rules?" he asks pulling back to look her in the eye, his hand coming up to once again cup her cheek.

"They got shot sometime around that first kiss I think"

"Great" he replies with a smile, and then he gently pulls her closer and kisses her again.

She wraps her arms around his neck far too dramatically for her liking, her eyes closed, and he holds her by the waist flush against him, eliminating all of the space between them. It’s tender, and sweet, and exactly everything he thought it would be.

He doesn’t try to seduce her tonight; she has enough to think about just being with him without the added pressure of first-time performance. But he drags her to the couch and holds her for a long time, and allows himself to admit that this is the best damn mess he’s ever got himself into. He kisses her over and over, and runs his hand through her hair like he’s wanted to do for the longest time (she knew it) and holds her close and breathes her in. He smells her perfume, and hears her hum, and feels her heartbeat under his hand when he rests it on her breastbone, and watches as she closes her eyes, leans her head back, and lets him. He kisses that space when he moves his hand away, and sees her smile.

He leaves before Rusty gets home, and she’s thankful for that, because she has no idea what to make of this, and so has no idea how to explain to Rusty what this means. She had promised to keep him informed of any changes in their lives, but it feels decadent to have a little secret of her own, and she decides to hold on to it until they’ve had a chance to see what this thing can be.

He texts her goodnight, much later, and tells her he’ll see her in the morning.

She tells herself, when she’s sitting in her office at nine thirty the next day, is that she’s not waiting for him, and she won’t rush out to meet him the second he arrives.

When he doesn’t show up, she thinks he might have just slept in, or had a dentist appointment he forgot to mention, and it’s not until morning break that she really gets worried, and she mentions it to Provenza. He’s worried too, and the two of them share a look before informing everyone to keep an ear out.

It is late morning before they realise he’s missing. Genuinely missing, complete with ransacked house, an unanswered phone, and the last place anybody saw him was at her home last night; missing.

It’s lunch time, and the department is frantic, calling it in across town and compiling a list of known enemies of Andy Flynn. She chews her fingernail as an old colleague brings down his FID file, and she starts to sift through it herself, being the most familiar with it. God, and isn’t that just twisting the knife.

A ransom call is made, and she’s not sure which is worse- hearing his voice read out a pre-written note, or realising that he’s been gone all night and nobody knew about it; nobody could help him.

She promises him they’ll find him just as he’s taken off the line.

They soon learn- because Tao is a genius and they love him for that- that this isn’t a ransom demand at all, it’s a revenge killing. She tries to pick out their likely suspect from his case history, but no names jump out at her, and so they hope to god he calls again, or they have nothing. Based on the flimsy evidence they have, it becomes obvious that this crime is methodical and well-planned, but Andy has put too many people in prison to really narrow it down.

They work out a roster for working overtime and going home to sleep, and she thanks them all and puts herself as first contact and tells them to not give up hope as she walks into her office and closes the door behind her.

And then for the first time in a long time Sharon Raydor closes her eyes and prays.


	2. Ballad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She tries to stop herself from thinking of all the crime statistics she has in her head, and all the cases that didn’t end well. She tries to make herself forget all about the feeling of being in his arms, and then tries to hold the memory closer, just in case she never gets another chance to be that way again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Sorry about that last chapter guys. I guess I should have better signposted heartbreak, huh? Ooops, oh well. Here you go.  
> Part two of three.  
> Based on a prompt from the RaydorFlynn lj community ‘Late Night Phone Call’, and includes a prompt from skillwithaquill who asked for: Sharon/Andy- First ‘I love you’.

**Ballad**

  
The agonising hours- days in which they trace phones and interview witnesses and even release a press statement- pass by in a blur for Sharon, and the only thing she can truly recall in any great detail is Provenza’s pitying look when they are told they have no good leads. Her heart feels like ice, and Rusty doesn’t know what to say to her when she comes home late three nights in a row and remains silent. He is worried- of course he is, he cares about Flynn too- but he doesn’t yet know that they intended to start a relationship, and she doesn’t say anything about it, because what if they don’t find him. What if they never find him? Not all kidnapping cases are solved. Not all murderers are traceable. How many cases are only ever put away for good once a body is found years later?

She tries to stop herself from thinking of all the crime statistics she has in her head, and all the cases that didn’t end well. She tries to make herself forget all about the feeling of being in his arms, and then tries to hold the memory closer, just in case she never gets another chance to be that way again.

But then, days after he’s gone, Tao revisits the ransom note, and because Andy is one of their own Taylor approves a very expensive paper analysis be conducted. It leads them to a supplier, who leads them to a man who was friends with a man Andy once put in prison. The details and science of it all confuse her a little bit, and frankly she doesn’t much care, but the point is their suspect ends up being a man they had dismissed for being unlikely, and she almost loses it at that, running to the bathroom in case she really does throw up.

Andy could die, or already be dead, and all because she tossed the wrong file in the ‘no’ pile; wrote off a mildly deranged ex-gang banger as having no opportunity to kidnap.

They learn, upon re-examination, that at the time of his release he was in some danger of suffering a psychotic break, and she spends a good twenty minutes threatening his psychologist with every charge under the sun, and walks out feeling marginally better after that.

Provenza meets her in the hall, having watched the exchange in electronics. His stony expression tells her that he’s feeling about the same as her, and that is comforting, but also terrifying. She needs him to guide her on this one, because quite frankly she has no idea anymore. Her judgement is shot, and she can only hope that her many years as an investigator will serve her well.

She’s never been in this situation. This was one of the reason’s she transferred so readily to IA in the first place; good promotion opportunities, and the ability to keep her work and home life separate. Her children never had to worry about her being gone at all hours, or never coming home from a case. Her paperwork was done between nine and five, and then left in the office. Her suspects were only ever cops themselves.

She’s never had to stare at an empty desk and know that the life of one of their own- and his life in particular- rests in her hands, and in the decisions she makes.

The pressure shakes her very core.

It takes four solid, overworked days from the time of the kidnapping for them to find the small abandoned bike factory that Andy is being held in. They all yelp in victory, and she doesn’t even try to hide her frantic run out the door, the team right on her heals.

They arrive at the scene at eight thirty at night. It doesn’t feel real. All the days he’s been gone, all the hours spent chasing a ghost, have come down to this rescue, and she doesn’t let herself remember their kiss even once, or it might break her.

SWAT informs them that according to thermal imaging there are two people in the building, one in a submissive position to the other, and they all breathe a sigh of relief at the prospect of Andy being alive after all. Even so, Sharon walks over to the command van they set up, and demands to see the image herself. Without audio or internal visuals, it’s impossible to actually identify who it is. But she’d know that gesture anywhere; that movement of his head. The fact that he gets backhanded after speaking to his captor.

“It’s him” says Provenza, only loud enough for her to hear.

“It’s him” she repeats, and a flood of mixed emotion unlike anything she’s ever felt runs from her scalp to the base of her spine. It settles behind her eyes, and she almost sees spots; relief, anger, worry, joy- she feels it all in that moment. She’s not going crazy, she hasn’t lost him. She could scream, and gladly would, if she didn’t have to keep herself together and command this team through his rescue.

"Captain" says Sanchez, stepping forward, already geared up and holding floor plans of the building in one hand as he adjusts his earwig with the other.

She nods at him to continue, the promise of work a convenient distraction. 

"Sykes and I have devised a tactical plan. But you're not going to like it"

She takes a single moment to acknowledge the depth of his words- the sorrowful expression on his face- before she steals her spine, closes herself off, and meets his eye. 

"Show me"

He nods once and leads her to the table strewn with papers, which has been set up behind the van as a portable incident base. There are a couple of black SUV’s around, all protected from immediate sight by a small shed outside the warehouse and dense trees. The large mobile command centre hides many of them too. Still, she’s never been more terrified of being discovered. Their kidnapper is a deranged ex-con, after all, and it’s Andy in there. Andy, with his kisses and his hugs, and his cooking dinner and being mindful of Rusty, and his dancing, and his bringing her tea at all hours, Andy.

Sanchez is right. She doesn't like the plan at all. It involves putting Andy in the firing line, a coin toss on his life, trusting that the SWAT team can be quicker on the trigger than their kidnapper. Trusting that Andy doesn’t try to escape in the meantime. Trusting luck, mainly.

She frowns at the plans as Sanchez is explaining them to her, and then sways side to side on the spot, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. She gives them a good hard look, and silently asks them to be kind, these tenuous plans that get less likely to succeed the longer they wait around.  
She gives Sanchez permission to go, and once she's half way back to the command centre she allows herself to rest her head in her hand, still standing, and bites her lip, the only outward sign that her heart is breaking. 

"He'd want that dirtbag taken down" says a gravelly voice from next to her shoulder. 

She straightens with a watery sniff, and manages to compose herself enough to nod, and keep the tears at bay, and calm her racing heart. "I know" 

They don't say anything else. She's not sure if his quiet support is his way of giving his approval to them both, but she welcomes it anyway. She once told Andy she wasn't an island, and as she possibly condemns him to death she knows she needs a friend. They make their way back to the van together, and sit side by side at the controls, two old warriors overseeing possibly the only event that would ever unite them as true friends. 

They establish a phone connection, and it takes half an hour and a professional negotiator to even get the guy to stay on the line. He’s definitely suffering from a psychotic episode, and doesn’t that just make her feel so much better, knowing Andy’s inside with a lunatic. They don’t really have any intention of talking him down, but they need to stall him so Sanchez and Sykes can coordinate their teams and get to the various entrances without detection. When the kidnapper finally calls them back it is Andy’s voice that flits through the speakers, and she almost weeps with joy. He sounds like crap, but decidedly alive.

Inside the van is Sharon, Provenza, the negotiator and Buzz. Everyone else is either gearing up for a major insurgent operation through the warehouse, or is co-ordinating thermal and optic connections around the property.

“Hey guys, miss me” asks Andy as his opening greeting on the phone.

She closes her eyes in relief and lowers her hands to the desk and then her head on top of her hands, just for a moment, a single silent sob escaping her. She feels Provenza’s hand on her shoulder for a moment. She straightens almost immediately, telling herself to hold it together.

“Andy, oh my god, I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice” she replies. If anybody notices the way her voice cracks, they don’t say anything.

“You too. It’s pretty damn good, I gotta tell ya. But, ah, you guys should know that Mr. Kovacevic here is very displease that you’ve found him”

He sounds a bit panicky, and she sees in her mind’s eye the most ferocious gun pointed at his head, and she refuses to acknowledge that the thermal imagining screen supports her overactive imagination.

“You just sit tight” she says. She doesn’t want to provoke their kidnapper, but she also wants Andy to know that they are about a minute away from storming the building, and she hopes she conveys all of that in her voice, and looks to Provenza to confirm that the tactical teams are in position.

“This is supposed to be my last phone call-“

She gasps and covers her mouth. She can’t help it.

“-so, I just wanted to say, that, ah, it’s been great. Really great. Provenza, make sure to feed my fish-“

“You don’t have any fish” he snaps in response. They just need to stall for a minute more, but Andy can’t possibly know just how close they are to a rescue, and she thinks that if she had a gun in her face she might be a bit hysterical too. It feels like a strange role reversal, him being the one in danger and her being the one to rush in and save him. She doesn’t like it one bit. She now understands his look of panic all those months ago, when he’d stopped a murderer from adding her body to the count. Except she hadn’t known then what she knows now; hadn’t felt this kind of dread. It certainly changes things, she acknowledges. Naïve little Captain, thinking that distance would have made any difference at all.

“-tell Buzz, don’t give the kid too much of a hard time” he says, and Buzz rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t let his presence be known. “I know he can be a pain in the ass, but he’s great once you get to know him a little better. And Provenza, you look after him too, you hear. Rusty needs a grouch like you on his side”

“I can’t promise we’ll get along all that well” says Provenza, refusing to play along to this verbal goodbye note.

“Well try, for me okay?”

There’s a moment of silence, and they hear a voice in the background and Andy’s sharp inhale. Buzz spins around, sensing their time is closing short, and throws on a set of headphones to listen in on the SWAT team’s status, which is thankfully ready to go.

“So, ah, I have to go now” says Andy, fear evident in his tone, and that breaks her heart. “-but, I guess I just need to say, since I won’t get another chance… Sharon-"

He pauses, and she can tell from the desperation in his voice and the depth of his breathing and the way his voice changes when he says her name; she can tell from all of those things what he’s about to confess to her, and she doesn’t want to hear it, so she shakes her head. "No, please don't" she whispers.

"I love you"

She sobs silently just once, a single tear escaping, but purses her lips and holds the rest back. 

"I just needed you to know that"

"Andy-" she chokes, her resolve very close to crumbling.

Provenza doesn’t know what to do or say, and the negotiator has no idea what’s going on, and Buzz is still engrossed in the headphones. She covers her mouth, as though that will be enough to keep it all inside. That Provenza doesn’t seem particularly shocked by the revelation should give her cause for thought, but all she can hear is the dead phone line now beeping in her ear. All she can feel is the crawling cold on her skin that runs down to her bones. It doesn’t register with her that they’re about to storm the castle.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, a light squeeze offering her silent support.

Buzz clicks at them frantically, one hand holding the headphones steady, the other thrown behind his back, and Provenza flicks the radio frequency over to the tactical teams, and they hear the cacophony of orders float through the van, and she barely notices any of it as she picks up the radio and says ‘you have a go’ into Sanchez’s ear.

Her head snaps up when they hear a shot, and then another, and then three more, all from different angles, as shouts of ‘officer down’ and ‘suspect down’ float through the speakers. She jumps out of her chair just as Provenza is handing her a flack vest, and they are quickly out of the van and running over to the scene. Provenza is a little slower than her, but then, he doesn’t run. Still, she can hear the pounding of his feet close behind her.

She rushes into the warehouse, gun drawn, surveying the scene with practice as she goes, and hearing echoes of 'clear' ring out from the various entrances. While everyone works to secure the area, she sees Andy sprawled on his back on the ground. She calls for an ambulance and registers someone repeating it into a radio, all of the SWAT personnel engrossed in checking for danger, Sykes and Sanchez with them. Quickly checking her surroundings, she rushes over to Andy, immediately noticing the bullet wound in his bicep.

"No, no, no-" she chants to herself under her breath. Her movements are calm and in control, despite her tone. In her rational mind she knows the wound itself is just superficial, or at least not life-threatening. But all she can understand is he's hurt, and the plan that she approved caused it.

That, and she loves him.

She applies pressure to the front of the wound while the other places her gun securely in its holster and then slides under his arm to check for an exit wound. Mercifully she feels one. He groans as she applies pressure to both sides, her knees sliding under his head to cradle it on her thighs. 

"Wake up Andy"

He moans again and his eyelids flutter open.

"Wake up" she repeats, her tone commanding. 

He jolts. "Alright, alright, I'm awake. Jesus"

He hisses when she adjusts her grip on his arm.

"You're gonna be just fine" she mutters. 

"I've had worse than this" he agrees, wincing. 

"That you have" she agrees, remembering another particularly distressing night which, in emotional retrospect, still shakes her nerves.  

"Did you get the sonofabitch?" 

"He's dead" she assures, looking at the bullet-riddled body of the bad guy lying not five feet away. “He's definitely dead. Sanchez and Sykes made sure of that" 

"They're good shots, those two. Military" 

"They are"

She keeps him talking despite his obvious lucidity, happy to have him conscious.  Happy to have him alive. She feels a tap on her shoulder and looks up to see a paramedic leaning down next to the injured arm. She has no idea how long she’s been inside the warehouse, but it can’t be that long, surely? For backup crews to begin already? 

"What do we have here?" asks the paramedic, her voice a calming mixture of friendliness and professionalism. 

"Big baby. Got shot- thinks it grants him a few weeks off in bed" 

They all grin at the gruff voice that walks out of the shadows, relieved that they can joke about the situation, even though her heart is still thundering wildly. If she doesn’t laugh she knows she’ll cry, so she smiles at Provenza and he nods in return. Sharon stands to let the paramedics take over, and Provenza stops walking just as he reaches her shoulder. She's sure that’s no coincidence. She looks at him and smiles her thanks, but she’s okay now, or at least she will be. 

Andy ends up walking himself out of the warehouse after his arm is field-dressed, and she's amazed at the weight that lifts from her shoulders at the sight. If the paramedics are letting the stubborn mule walk, then he must be fine, though he stumbles fractionally when they get to a front step.

Alive, and uninjured, but not fully okay just yet.

She feels a light tug on her arm, Provenza's hand firmly around her elbow, and she allows herself to be lead outside behind Andy, and only becomes aware of what he's doing when he points her towards the tap on the outside of the building. 

He turns the faucet for her, and she watches intently as Andy's blood runs off her hands and down into the gutter, fading until it's clear. She stares after it, as though it means something, but her mind is blank and her eyes are unfocused.

When her hands are clean- perhaps overly so, after she’s scrubbed and scrubbed- Provenza hands her his hanky to dry them, and she mutters a 'thank you' under her breath, catching his eye. They've come to a mutual understanding, the two of them. Outside of the force there is no way they would be friends; on the job, they are stronger for being allies. It's a fair trade, she thinks. 

They walk over to the ambulance where Andy is sitting on the back step, his arm being wrapped in fresh gauze, the second paramedic double-checking his pupil reaction. 

"Nice, clean soft-tissue wound" says the kindly paramedic from before, continuing to wrap the arm.

The stretcher in the back of the ambulance has a black body-bag on it, ready to be taken inside to clean up the scene, and Sharon shudders. 

"Good food, lots of fluids, a few days of rest, he should be fine" 

Andy grunts as she tugs at the bandage, fastening the butterfly clip. She's young and pretty, and nobody would be surprised if he started flirting with her, and Sharon is mildly amazed when he doesn't. She doesn’t expect him to be a different person just because they agreed to give this a shot, but she’s not sorry for the happiness that floods her when he only has eyes for her.

"You'll need to go to the hospital anyway, for procedural records" says Provenza, eyeing the back of the ambulance suspiciously.

"Yeah. This is not my first rodeo, old man, thank you"

“I’ll take him” says Sharon, cutting off an argument.

Nobody bothers to question her, or to ask if that’s a good idea, and she’s glad for that because it most decidedly is _not_ a good idea, and she doesn’t need Provenza or anyone else reminding her of that.

“You’re in charge here” she adds to Provenza, and he nods, frowning but accepting the way it’s going to be.

When Andy is alright to go, his eyelids drooping as he comes down from his adrenaline high, she slides herself under his arm and half carries him to her car, Provenza taking his other arm to help. They muscle him into the front seat, where he only grunts and closes his eyes, and she knows he’ll be asleep before they get to the hospital.

“I’ll call ahead, let them know you’re coming” says Provenza, and she nods her thanks and slides into the driver’s side, glad for something to do.

“Call me once they’re done here” she says, nodding towards the scene.

“We’ll be fine, you go”

She nods again, meeting his eye, and then she turns the ignition and drives away, perhaps a little faster than is legal, but Andy’s sitting next to her in a half-conscious state and she wants him seen to as quickly as possible.

The hospital ushers them inside when they arrive, a bed and the necessary scans ready to go, and she wonders just what exactly Provenza yelled down the phone line to make them so responsive so fast. As Andy is placed on a bed and wheeled behind closed doors, she is left standing almost alone, and she only realises she’s being ushered down the hall when a kindly nurse, a full head shorter than herself, grabs both her arms and uses physical force.

She collapses into an uncomfortable chair in a private room she’s lead to- she figures it’s Andy’s room, ready for him once he’s back from having his head looked at- and the nurse thrusts a glass of water in her hand.

“Here honey, you look like you could use something stronger, but this will do”

“Thank you” she rasps.

She is left alone, and waits, the dread still heavy under her breastbone, anxious to see him and to know that he’s okay. The night has felt like a whirlwind; the lead-up to taking the factory took a lifetime, and yet since she found him on the floor time has flown, and she barely remembers how she got here. She looks around at the stark walls of the tiny private room, and spots the bathroom door, and decides that washing up isn’t such a bad idea.

Once she’s scrubbed her face, meagre makeup be damned, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and spends a good half hour on the phone with Provenza, desperately craving the distraction. She updates him about Andy, telling him that he’s been taken for some scans to check for concussion, and she learns that the scene clean-up is cut and dry, and she’s just hanging up the phone when Andy gets wheeled into the room on his bed. He’s changed into a hospital gown and has his eyes closed, but she thinks he might be fighting for consciousness out of sheer stubbornness, and so she gestures for the doctor to step outside the door and update her in the hallway.

“I’m keeping him here tonight” he starts, a young man with a handsome face, and boy if she was twenty years younger. “He’s fine, for the most part, but I’d like to see he gets rehydrated and has a full night’s rest. I’ve given him a sedative to help him sleep- that should kick in, say in about half an hour”

“Good” nods Sharon, glancing through the window of the door.

“He was lucky. I can’t tell you why, but his captor didn’t really do much to him. No food and little water, but with rest, he’ll be fine. We’ve got him on fluids and vitamins, just to kick start”

“And the bullet wound?” she asks, her arms crossed under her breasts in what she hopes looks like a professional stance.

“Clean. A couple of weeks in a sling, a couple more on a desk, Captain, and he should be fine”

She breathes a sigh of relief and takes a long blink. The young doctor smiles kindly at her, giving her a moment, having no idea why this moment is so monumental to his patient, or why it’s so relieving to her. How could he know, it’s not like she’s been doing anything but waiting for him in the middle of the night.

“Overall, I don’t think you could ask for a better prognosis, given the circumstances” he says kindly, and if his gaze lingers on her a moment longer, she feels flattered but nothing else.

“Thank you” she says meaningfully. “May I-?” She gestures to the door, to the seat she was occupying earlier that she can see is now right next to his bed.

“Of course. Like I said, he’ll be asleep in half an hour, but feel free to sit with him until then”

She nods again, and gives her thanks, and then swings the door quietly open and steps inside.

Andy seems to have finally succumbed to sleep, but when she lowers herself into the chair by his bedside and caressed the back of his hand gently, his eyelids flutter open.

“Hey” he says, giving the ghost of a smile.

“Hey yourself” she replies, sitting forward a bit in her chair. He flips his hand over and clutches hers, and she can see that it’s a struggle for him to stay awake, so she stands, leans over him, and ghosts the fingers of her other hand over his brow. She kisses him, once, softly, unable to stop herself from re-establishing what they started all those days ago. “Rest, Andy” she whispers, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be here in the morning”

He only nods, and his eyes slip closed, and she sits back into the chair and watches him finally doze off, safe and secure, one step closer to being fine.

She can’t stay all night. Even if the nurses would let her, she has to pick up Rusty from Tao’s home where he’s been staying all night. And she has to be at the office early in the morning to wrap up the paperwork for this case after all the attention it’s received. And she has to go home and take a long hot shower and wash away the last of the night for good.

Still, she stays just a few minutes more, watching his eyes still behind his lids as the sedative takes hold of him and keeps him in dreamland. She clutches his hand tightly, and even knowing he’ll be okay, and knowing he can’t hear her, she doesn’t have the words to express to him what she feels, and so she stays silent. She needs to hold her resolve just a little bit longer; make it home and see Rusty to bed and then break down silently into her pillow when she’s alone and there’s nobody to witness.

She holds his knuckles to her mouth and thanks God that he’s okay, and then she somehow finds the courage to leave him. She passes by the nurse’s station on the way out, and when she tells them to take good care of him, the kind nurse from before only nods at her and smiles.

“We will” she says, all too knowing.

Sharon walks stiffly to her car, and calls Tao to let him know that she’s dropping by to pick up Rusty- it’s after midnight, but the boy refused to sleep knowing that something big was happening, so she’ll take him home so he can sleep in his own bed.

Later, when she has showered every memory of the last four days off her skin, and Rusty is long asleep, and she has readied herself for bed, she slips under the covers; she curls into her pillow, and finally, finally the tears come. She sobs silently, hard body-wracking sobs that echo down to her core and shake awake her every emotion; bring to light every truth she has denied herself and every excuse she told herself.

And then she sleeps.

And when she dreams, it’s of the two of them, in the hospital. She has a bruise on her back and he has a bullet hole in his arm, and they are side by side on the bed and they are laughing. They are talking and laughing and it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. She holds his hand and laughs at his joke, and they are free as birds.

Their wounds mean nothing. 


	3. Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But he also recalls every look and touch between them, and he’s confident enough to put a name on it all, and that leaves him with a tingling down his spine. It makes their car ride quiet, contemplative perhaps, but not uncomfortable, and he thinks he could get used to this new breed of tension between them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I’ll ever be sick of writing for this story, but just in case I get totally overcome by the new season, here’s part three of three, nice and quick. Follows after Ave Maria and Ballad in the Little Light Music series. Please note, that due to assignments, updates may be a little more sporadic after this chapter.
> 
> Chapter rated M: warning for explicit sex scene.  
> Based on NHas’s prompts ‘Andy needs Sharon’s help’, and ‘Andy gets hurt’.

**Serenade**

 

The sun has just set when she makes it back to the hospital to pick him up the following day, and she’s grateful to the hot young doctor for keeping Andy overnight; his ashy skin and tired eyes look refreshed for having had a day in bed. He looks happy to be going home, but even he can’t deny the good it did him to have a saline drip in his arm and a dreamless sleep.

She walks into his room almost hesitantly, as though he might detect all of the emotions she felt last night, but he only smiles. She smiles right back. She can’t quite decipher his expression, but it’s welcoming enough that she straightens her spine and walks up to his bedside.

“Ready to go home?” she asks, gathering his overnight bag that’s next to him on the bed. He doesn’t fight her on it, because he still feels the effects of his ordeal, but more so because he thinks she needs the control that taking care of him brings her. He can tell she’s still trying to find her equilibrium, and he doesn’t begrudge her that.

“Am I ever” he replies, sliding off the bed and grabbing hold of her arm, though he doesn’t really need it. “The pretty young nurse who does the afternoon shift hooked me up with the good stuff. I might even let you try it” he drones, wagging his eyebrows.

“Oh did she” she scoffs, rolling her eyes at him with a grin.

“Sharon”

He tugs on her arm and she spins around to face him again, an expectant look on her face. She’s spoken to him three times today already, updating him on the outcome of the case, and once just to hear his voice. She’s not sure when he thought it was okay to always call her by her first name- probably somewhere around that moment he was facing imminent death- but the way it falls from his mouth with his east coast twang; it’s just fine by her.

“Thank you” he continues, and the playfulness is replaced with a soft smile on his face. “Thanks for saving my life”

She nods, tears almost springing up at his frankness, and she purses her lips. “I guess we’re even now” she replies. He gives her a single laugh; a huff of breath and a nod that tells her he thinks they’re far from even, but he’s willing to let it go, because this isn’t the time or the place.

“Where’s the kid?” he asks, as they continue walking out of the room and down the hall, his bag in her hand.

“He’s at Mike’s again tonight. After I, ah… _volunteered_ , to make sure you got home okay, Mike offered to have him another night. Plus I was late at the office anyway, finishing up the last of the report”

He gives her a concerned look out of the corner of his eye, questioning her eagerness over paperwork.

“I wanted it done” she adds with finality, and a harshness to her tone that brings a tension to her features in its wake; he understands what she’s saying. “So now it’s time to take you home and see to it that you have something decent to eat and a good night’s rest”

She pats his arm as they walk, her tone light, but there’s a shadow in the corner of her eye giving her away, and he would like nothing better than to kiss it and make it better. So he does, stopping her in the empty hallway and kissing the space between her eye and her temple. She leans into him just a fraction, and sighs under her breath.

They drive in silence to his house, and he thinks it could be awkward, because he remembers what he confessed to her on the phone, a gun only an inch from his eyeball, and she hasn’t mentioned it all day. But he also recalls every look and touch between them, and he’s confident enough to put a name on it all, and that leaves him with a tingling down his spine. It makes their car ride quiet, contemplative perhaps, but not uncomfortable, and he thinks he could get used to this new breed of tension between them.

At his home she makes him a simple sandwich of salad and egg, conscious that his stomach is still getting used to solid food again. She makes herself one too, since she’s been neglecting herself trying to find him, and they sit at his small table opposite one another and eat in silence. He wonders where the food came from, but then remembers that she mentioned that Provenza stole his keys and went shopping, and he’s completely surprised that the contents of his cupboard is not limited to chips and steak.

There doesn’t seem to be anything to say, and yet there’s a lot they need to talk about, and so they focus on their food and hope the other will break first. He manages to finish the sandwich, slowly, and she eyes him from across the table and seems satisfied.

She’s just putting their plates in his sink, and he’s watching her from the table, when he stands and makes his way over to her. She pauses when she feels him behind her, her head tilting down to the side, watching his hand come around her to rest on her hipbone.

He turns her around with gentle pressure, and she buries her face against his chest, her hands coming up to grasp his casual shirt in firm fists. His arms come around her back, running his hands up and down, as she finally, blissfully relaxes. She breaths in his scent, her memory just not vivid enough to recreate it on her own; the smell of him needing to be experienced in person.

She hums a noise that sounds like ‘oh’, but could be a sigh. He knows that she’s just strung out after this whole thing. He, on the other hand, needs some reaffirmation that he’s alive, and he leans back enough to tilt her chin up and kiss her, hard. She moans into it, her arms coming around his body to clutch quite desperately at his shoulder blades. He feels her fingertips digging into his back, the firmness of her kiss as she reciprocates. He breaks away, and then kisses her again, and they both remember the last time they did this, less than a week ago, in her kitchen with their hearts racing and the promise of more just on the horizon. She kisses him back and moves one hand from around his back to cup around his neck, holding him there.  

He is suddenly a lot warmer than he was a few minutes ago.

“I’m damn happy to be alive” he murmurs against her lips, his hands wandering the length of her back, igniting in her a need she didn’t know she held deep inside her.

“Then show me how much…” she whispers, nipping lightly at his lips again, the lightest of pressures against him encouraging him towards the hallway. If he expects her to be restrained for much longer, he is pleasantly surprised. Her intention is not pushy, but it is clear, and he thinks she needs this as much as he wants it.

He kisses her back and brings his hands up to cup her cheeks. He feels a pull in the stitches in his arm, but he’s had far worse, and for this he can ignore it. Plus, he’d taken some of that good stuff with dinner, and the pain should be dulled for a few hours yet.

He pulls back to look at her, and her eyes are glassy but clear; determined and swimming with everything she wants to say but can’t find the words for, and so he kisses her words away and takes another step backwards. She follows.

“I’m safe” he assures her, meaningfully, wanting her to know that she can trust him- that he wouldn’t do this unless he was sure it wouldn’t hurt her. She only nods and whispers ‘me too’ before kissing him again, her eyes clenched tightly closed.

He leads her silently into his bedroom and then turns to face her, standing near the side of the bed. He runs his palms over her face, and down her sides, and she shivers under his touch and closes her eyes. She opens them just as quickly, the memory of him sprawled and bloody on the ground too vivid in her mind, and instead runs her hand down his chest.

He crooks a finger under her chin and coaxes her to look him in the eye, and once he’s spent a good few second staring at her, his lips descend on hers and she hums into his kiss. She melts against him, her hands snaking around him to clutch at his hip and back.

They break their kisses, their lips still almost touching as his hands run the length of her spine.

“I can’t lose you” she whispers, unemotional except for the desperate way her fingers dig into his back.

“I’m here”

“You are” she whispers, her voice tinted with relief, and something resembling awe, and it’s that more than anything that prompts him to kiss her again.

He feels her pulling the back of his shirt out of his trousers, and it’s almost too much to know that this is happening; skin on skin contact, an affirmation of life, a joining of two people who should have got their act together months ago.

He runs his hands up her back, under her jacket, and around her front, tracing the line of buttons on her blouse. Her hands follow the hem of his shirt around to the front of his body, untucking as she goes, and then her hands start on his top button.

They are slow and methodical, all of their attention on the buttons, and breathing, and not collapsing in a heap over what they’re doing and what happened yesterday. They each lose their shoes, flicking them into various corners of the room. 

He gets to the last button and runs his palms under the shoulders of her shirt, sliding it and her jacket off in one swoop. She shucks her shoulders out of them, catches them both in her hands when they slide down her arms, and neatly tosses them over the end of the bed. She is left standing in just a bra, her skirt still on, and she reaches up and helps pull his sleeves down his arms, mindful of his bullet wound. She traces the edge of his bandage with her finger tips while he’s tossing his shirt behind him, and then she pulls his singlet out of his pants and gently helps pull that over his head.

She runs her hands down his chest, learning the feel of his flesh and muscle under her fingers, and then traces the long scar on his stomach with the edge of a single fingernail. He almost shudders under her touch.

“I remember this” she whispers, greeting the wound like an old friend.

He wraps his arms around her back and finds the zip of her skirt, pulling it down and pushing it over her hips so it pools at her bare feet. His hands run slowly up her back, his fingers brushing each vertebra as they pass upwards, and she shivers, reaching for his belt buckle and undoing it and his pants, pushing them down to join her skirt on the floor. They take a single step towards the bed, stepping out of their clothes on the floor.

She pulls her arms back and around her body, eyeing him with shyness as she unhooks her bra, and tosses it aside. He runs his hands up her belly slowly, savouring her body, and cups her breasts, lingering in the feel of them in his hands. His eyes never leave her body, and she blushes, but leaves him be. He leans forward, his hands smoothing over her skin, and kisses the tops of each breast, moving to kneel and continuing to kiss as he goes. With their height difference, and her hunched posture as she follows his movement, he can continue to flick his tongue around her flesh, and his hands come around her back as he holds her close to him and has his fill.

She runs her hands through his hair and throws her head back, the image of him on his knees in front of her, the feeling of his hands and tongue on her, enough to send her wild.

He kisses across her stomach and over to the waistline of her underwear, licking along the seam of the lace. She shudders as he kisses her hip bone, and then the edge of her pants again, and then pinches them and pulls them down a fraction and kisses the exposed flesh, and then pulls them down a fraction more and does it again. He hooks his thumbs into the waist and ushers the pants down her legs, kissing the length of her hip as he goes, and when they pool on the floor his hands cup her backside. He looks up at her, meeting her hooded eyes for a moment, and then he leans forward and kisses the divot where her thigh meets her pelvic bone, and then again on the other side, and then sucks on the flesh at the very top of her thigh with the intention of leaving the smallest of bruises.

Her fingers tighten in his hair and her head rolls back again, her stomach clenching in sweet agony, knowing he won’t relieve her yet.

She ushers him up again, her movements just a little bit more frantic, and kisses him firmly, her hands cupping his neck under his ears. He devours her mouth and feels her hands trace over his chest and down his stomach, to hook into his boxers, and she runs her hands over his hips before pushing them down.   

They don’t break their kiss as they both step out of their pants on the floor, and he spins them slowly on the spot, his tongue dancing against hers, until her calves knock the bed base, and she can feel the mattress behind her thighs.

He flings the bed sheets open and lowers her back on the bed, holding himself above her by his good arm, the other resting against her body. He kisses the hollow of her neck, and then the jut of her collarbone, a long slow kiss. He kisses the other side, and her hands come up and run back and forth through his hair to spike it up and smooth it down again. She smiles at him.

He moves lower, to kiss the space directly between her breasts, and he lingers there, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat against his lips. Her hands move down to cup his neck, not moving him along or keeping him in place, but just holding. He kisses the swell of her breast, and then her nipple, sucking it to peak, and she arches lightly underneath him, a slow burn building in her body and not just in her mind. He kisses her chest again, and then the swell of her other breast, and then sticks his tongue out and circles her other nipple, flicking lightly over it, back and forth, and she arches further, the hands on his neck tightening in pleasure, the cold night air ghosting over the wetness he leaves there.

She spreads her legs in invitation, and he shifts to rest between them, his hardness not yet at full length, but getting there, resting against her inner thigh.

He kisses her collarbone again, and then moves higher, dropping his good elbow to rest alongside her head, the hand of his injured arm clutching her hand by her side, immobile but still connected. She grips his hand tight.

He moves into her line of vision, and she opens her eyes, her breathing deep and obviously aroused. They look each other for a long minute, and he leans down and pecks her lips, once, twice, three times, before the hand on the back of his neck pulls him in and they crash together again. Her tongue sweeps his bottom lip and his does the same to her. Her mouth opens and lets him in, and their tongues meet, and he spends a good few minutes kissing her senseless, lightly rocking against her in a rhythm they can’t fight.

His injured hand moves over fractionally, and his fingers dance patterns against her hip and upper thigh, feather-light. He doesn’t move enough to hurt himself, but it’s enough to cause a shudder to run though her, the extra sensory stimulation running across her nerves. He kisses and pecks, and runs his tongue across hers, and finally, just as he thinks he’s going mad, her free hand moves. It had been by her side and has found its way to his hip, and moves across his abdomen, down lower though his hair, and grasps him lightly.

He moans low in his throat at the contact, and she replies with a whimper of her own, her legs spreading just a fraction wider as she strokes him and feels him harden just a bit more, now at his full length. She strokes him one more time, and then leads his tip to her entrance.

They both moan, and she arches her back, as he slowly slides into her, a feeling like coming home.

He holds still, allowing them both to adjust as he kisses her lips lightly and plays with her hair. He loves this moment, when two people are connected so intimately, but not moving. He loves that he’s in this moment with her.

She smiles at him, a lazy contented smile, as she looks him in the eye and squeezes her inner muscles, testing. He whimpers low in the back of his throat, and then drags himself almost fully out, and then slides home again, smooth and soft. She mews at the feeling. Her hand caresses his neck.

It’s been quite a while for both of them, though longer for her, and the pleasure of being touched- by him in particular- could bring tears to her eyes. It just feels so damn good, and she arches her back into the stroke as he pulls back again and slides into her, a little harder this time.

He kisses her, long and slow, as he repeats the motion, hitting just a little deeper.

She moans loudly, her head thrown back, and he kisses her neck.

He kisses her again, and then she moves her hands to his shoulders and lightly encourages him to roll over, mindful of his injured arm as he falls on his good shoulder and rolls her on top of him, remaining seated deep inside her.

They grin at each other as they adjust to the new position, and she leans down and plants a kiss on his lips, and then his chest, her hands running into his hair. His good hand runs the length of her side, from her hip bone, across her ribs, and up to cup her breast, kneading it in his hand, two fingers tweaking her nipple. She moans, and leans up a little bit, stoking up and then down, rocking her hips into his. His injured arm rests alongside his body, his hand coming to clasp around her thigh.

He puts pressure against her chest with the hand on her breast, causing her to sit up higher, her hands on his chest, her hips moving slow and steady, a calm rhythm. They’re in no rush, and they know they’re too tired to keep this up all night, so they savour it and let it wash over them.

She sits right back on her knees, still moving, though she knows her knees won’t like this position for long. Even so, it’s worth it to see his eyes roaming her body, from her hair all the way down to her arms, her breasts, her belly, and down to where they join, him slowly sliding in and out of her.

His hand follows the path his eyes take, pausing to tweak her nipple, caress her stomach, brush the pad of his finger over her bundle of nerves and grin as a shudder runs through her at the contact.

“Beautiful” he whispers.

She whimpers and her eyes fall shut. She strokes up and then down once more, before falling forward again, her hands either side of his head. She lowers herself until her lips can brush his, and she stays a mere inch away, sharing his breath, opening her eyes to find him watching her closely. His hand runs the length of her back again, down over her backside, and back up to thread his fingers in her hair, pulling her down into a searing kiss.

She stokes a little bit harder, a touch faster, picking up their pace.

The feeling coursing through him changes from a slow burn to a crawling heat, a sweat breaking out over his skin. She must be the same, because she meets his thrusts, and moans low in her throat, lolling her head back.

His hand moves down her back again to her hips, holding her close around her lower back and pulling her into him with each upward thrust. Her breaths come out in pants, and she gives herself over to that pleasure and threads her hands into his hair again, holding him as close as she can. They rock together, faster and harder, and he hits deep inside her and makes her whimper. She clenches her muscles in return and it makes him groan.

She leans in and kisses him again, but it’s getting too much to maintain, so she keep her fingers buried in his hair and surrenders to the feeling.

When he feels himself getting closer, climbing higher, he traces his finger around to her stomach, then lower, and slides his palm over the hairs there to plant the pad of his finger on her nerves. She moans, loud and long at the contact, and shudders, and he circles his finger in time to his deep thrusts. Her breaths get shorter, shallower, and she makes small whimpering noises as he works her harder. He can feel her getting closer, and her thrusts become sharper and more erratic against him, and he kisses her again when he feels she’s getting close.

She shatters above him, a heat like white spreading through her, up and down her spine and to the tips of every finger, then down to her toes. She moans out loud, deep, and throws her head back, her mouth open, her eyes closed. She thrusts into her climax and his fingers move her though it, and then he stills, his own completion overtaking him. The sight of her on top of him, all around him, the sounds she makes and knowing he did that to her; he flies apart in a flash of heat, with a groan like her name in his throat.

When he comes back to his senses her forehead is resting in the juncture between his shoulder and chest, her body on top of him, both of them panting. He runs his hand across her back and her fingers tense in his hair but don’t move.

She raises her head, her breathing still deep, her eyes clouded in pleasure and fatigue, a lazy smile on her face. She meets his eye, and her smile turns into a grin that looks downright wicked.

“That was…”

“Incredible’’ he finishes for her, stroking her back again, grinning.

“Oh yeah”

She nods at him, and then leans down and kisses him hard. He smiles into the kiss and she does too, and it’s perfect. They stay there kissing for a long while, grinning madly at each other as they explore each other’s bodies in the afterglow, and she feels completely secure in the way his hands admire every bump and curve they can comfortably find. If he wanted younger, slimmer, fitter, he certainly had his pick long before she came along. She doesn’t doubt herself, or him, and after such good sex, why would she. She feels positively glowy.

After a while he rolls them onto their sides, sliding out of her in the process, and she squirms at the unexpected feeling after being so used to being connected. He rolls back to settle on his back, and drags her into his side in the process, loath to let her go even for a moment. They both pull the sheets up around their bodies at the night air cools the sweat on their skin. She traces a finger over his brow, and his nose, and then caresses his lips with the pad of her thumb, and he kisses it softly. She smiles, and leans in for a kiss.

She tucks herself into his side and kisses his chest, and he ignores the pull of his injured arm as he brings it up to hold her hand flat to his chest, his other arm under her neck and snaking around her, his fingers tracing patterns on her back.

"Nobody at work can know about this" she says lowly, her head on his chest. “Even if Provenza already does, nobody else…”

"Secret. Got it" he mumbles, focused instead on the feeling of lingering in his blissful haze.

"I mean it Andy- no-one" she says, flattening her palm on his chest and almost patting it for emphasis.

"I heard you" he says a little louder. "My lips are sealed. Not a word"

She nods, seemingly content with that answer, and settles her head back on his chest, running her fingertips over the hairs there, grinning to herself as her eyes slip closed. 

"What're you smiling at?" he mumbles at her, his own eyes closed though he can feel her smile all the same.

"How absurd we both are" she says primly, her amused tone and clipped words clashing with the soft feel of her body half wrapped around him and the smile on her face.

"For banging with a bullet wound in my arm?"

"For _banging_ at all" she replies, and the mirth in her voice makes him huff in amusement. He kisses the top of her head, opening his eyes to contemplate her, a misplaced yet fearful thought flitting through his mind. 

"Do you regret it?" he asks softly. 

Her brow furrows as her eyes open, and she takes a single moment to consider his question. 

"No" she drawls airily, a minor revelation. "I don't"

His arms tighten fractionally around her, and he kisses her hair again. "Me neither" he whispers.

She hums, an expressive little noise full of all the happiness she feels at that admission and all the contentment she feels in this moment. He shifts fractionally, straightening his injured arm next to him for comfort, and she ghosts her fingertips over his bandage before settling herself deeper into the sheets and his embrace, a contemplative little look on her face. He squeezes her again in askance.

"Andy?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you too" she says softly, weighted and yet the easiest thing the world to admit to him.   
He grins, his eyes still closed, the tightening of his fingertips against her back the only outward sign that her words affect him. 

"I figured" he replies cockily. 

She scoffs at him, taken by surprise at his nonchalant tone, and buries her head further against his chest with a grin. He feels her shake her head against him.

"Okay Han Solo" she says through a yawn, patting his chest, and he won't ask how she made that connection. "Sleep now. You wore me out- I'm not a young woman anymore"

"Yeah. Me neither"

"Hmm you'll have to tell me about it sometime" she mumbles, letting sleep slowly take her. 

"About what?"

"The time you were a young woman" 

He groans at her joke and rolls his eyes to ceiling, and she giggles sleepily beside him. 

" _I'm_ supposed to tell the Dad jokes" 

"And let you have all the fun? I don't think so" 

He kisses her head again, running his hand over her back as her breathing gets deeper and heavier. 

"Sleep now. We'll both be here in the morning"

She only hums in response before she succumbs to sleep entirely, and he just smiles, allowing the full reality of this past week wash over him. A near-death rescue, a damn good screw, and finally winning the girl; this is only supposed to happen in the movies. More than that, he's not supposed to be so god damn elated that he’s in bed with the boss. 

Sleep pulls him away, and he lets it, and decides that doubts and second guesses can wait for morning. This moment is too good to waste.

This love might just have a chance after all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I don’t write smut very often, but I’m not gonna lie, this chapter was purely about gratuitous sex scenes. Sorry I’m not sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stick with me as we bring some drama to this pair of idiots. And as always, please let me know what you think.


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